


All I Want

by voodoo_smile



Category: Indie Music RPF, Music RPF, Pop Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF, The Cure (Band), music and bands
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanfiction, M/M, Male Slash, Slash, Smut, The Cure, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoo_smile/pseuds/voodoo_smile
Summary: Setting: Robert/Simon. 1998-99Disclaimer: I do not own The Cure. Everything described in this story is fictional.**Robert's drunk on wine...again, and Simon comes to his rescue**WIP





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. More will be posted as it develops.

"M, I didn’t—I didn’t know—"

“Oh, right! Like you don’t remember what you told me last week!!” Mary’s eyes were like daggers, and she slammed the cabinet door shut after grabbing the glass from the cupboard.

He had only been home for less than a week, but had already forgotten about what she had planned for the both of them on a rare handful of days that he promised to set aside. It seemed as though he never stopped with the constant planning and arranging when it came to his other life: The Cure. It was maddening and something she couldn't pull him away from no matter how hard she tried.

“Please, M!” Robert knew he sounded pathetic. He turned his head upwards and his glassy, bloodshot eyes desperately searched her face as he squeaked out his plea. He felt helpless as he stood leaning into the counter—he had to stop swaying. He couldn’t let her see the what the full effects of ingesting almost a full bottle of red wine alone in the kitchen had done, but he knew she was not naïve about his alcohol consumption or drug use. She had seen everything. He looked down again quickly at his hands as they still held onto the nearly empty bottle and he sighed, trying to avert his gaze away from her deadly glare, “It’s only for two days and—"

“Whatever, Robert! Do what you fucking want! You always do anyway, don’t you?!” She shook her head, sniffed and turned around to face the sink, “It’s obvious that what I want doesn’t matter.” She took a deep breath and her hands shook as she filled her glass with water.

“We can do it next week, I promise.” Robert was begging once more, but it was no use. Even he knew he had already lost this battle, and out of desperation he grabbed her arm in a fumbling attempt to pull her towards him, but she pushed back quickly, causing the water in her glass to spill over the top and splash onto the floor.

“Fuck!” She shouted, and Robert recoiled at her outburst, “ _Just stop it!!_ ” Mary slammed the glass down on the counter, “Pfff,” She huffed and crossed her arms, “Should’ve known you wouldn’t slow down with _that_ either!” She wiped her eyes and Robert kept his gaze on the floor—he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, but then heard the sound of keys being retrieved from the counter and his head snapped up suddenly. He opened his mouth to speak, not even realizing the question he began to utter would go unanswered once again. The outcome of this scenario was becoming all too familiar lately.

“Where are you—" His whimper was promptly cut off.

 _“Out!!”_ She said, the resentment clearly evident in her voice, “Don’t bother waiting up…as if you even would!” The disappointment and disgust in her eyes moved from Robert to the bottle he still clutched in his hand, and she shook her head at the muddled, soused, silent creature that now stood before her.

“I’m sure you’d enjoy curling up with that fucking bottle instead, anyway!”

With that, she stepped over to the back door and pulled it open and Robert nearly lunged, reaching for her again, but she moved too quickly and he stumbled, the wine bottle nearly slipping out of his hand as he quickly grabbed at the edge of the counter in an effort to balance himself. He finally managed to step forward, but it was too late and the door slammed shut loudly, causing the windows to shake in the room around him.

“Fuck.” Robert muttered, pushed the hair away from his eyes haphazardly and slowly plodded his way towards the den.

He sat on the sofa, slumped forward and took a slug of wine from the bottle as a clap of thunder rang out in the distance. The rain had already started hitting the windows as he picked up the TV remote on the cushion beside him and he turned on the television, mindlessly flipping through the channels when suddenly, his eyes welled with tears. He chuckled aloud solemnly and shook his head at his own foolish reaction. He was a grown man, a successful musician and happily married...or was he? Of course he was. There was no question of whom he would rather spend the rest of his life with, but he felt that lately, she hadn’t shared the same sentiment. It was true they’d been fighting and this time it seemed different, or was it, really? He sighed and shook his head again, concluding that it had been the wine causing his morbid, desperate thoughts. Mary had always teased him in the past, remarking that after an evening of consuming the fermented red liquid, it never failed to render him a hopeless “drama queen.” Although, these days the humor had disappeared from her statement, and her playful taunt had turned into a defensive accusation, and rightly so, Robert thought. Even he knew his consumption had been somewhat over the top and she had become worried about his physical well-being just as much as his mental state.

He sighed and could think of nothing else but to take yet another guzzle from the bottle, wishing for a distraction. Perhaps some food—a Chinese take away sounded perfect, maybe even some pot to take the edge off, but he possessed neither and calling for either one was not an option as it was late, probably very late.

There was only one thing to be done.

He flipped through a handful of channels until he found what he was looking for: a movie, the cast of which was completely naked and consisted of two women and, of course, an almost non-existent plot. It was perfect and just what he needed to take his mind off of things. Robert sat back and watched intently as the two women kissed and fondled each other and after a moment, his hand inched down to the front of his jeans and landed on his cock. As the women continued their erotic display Robert pulled his zipper down, pushed his shorts aside and began rubbing himself. He should have been fully erect by now, but this wasn’t progressing as quickly as he had hoped. He wasn’t getting any harder despite his quickening strokes and he finally took his hand away, dropping it limply into his lap.

“Christ!” He gasped in hopeless frustration, and slumped forward, putting his head in his hands.

His mind couldn’t stop swirling and the tears he had held back minutes ago finally made their way to the surface and—much to his own horror—began to run down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes and sobbed out loud and sat up straight too suddenly, causing his vision to blur and his head to spin even more. After steadying himself for a moment, his eyes darted about the room until they settled on the cordless telephone sitting on the side table next to the couch. He slid over on the cushions and reached for it, dialing the number he had committed to memory for years.

The phone rang at least five times and then the answering machine took over. It was Sarah’s voice on the greeting and definitely not the one Robert needed to hear. Robert’s eyes shut tightly and more tears squeezed out. Leaving a message was not want he intended and he didn’t even know if he could articulate who he even was at that very moment. The voice stopped and he waited, trying to piece together in his clouded mind just what it was he wanted to say.

“I-I’m, I guess you—” And he stopped—just what could he possibly say he was calling for at this hour? What would Simon's family say in the morning after they heard such absurd ramblings? Robert cleared his throat, “Sorry, “ and he paused, eventually mumbling a quiet goodbye. As his hand was about to press the button to disconnect, there was a click on the other end and that low, smooth voice had made it to Robert’s ears from the small receiver still in his hand.

“Robert?” Simon asked.

Robert put the phone to his ear once again, but couldn’t say a word.

“Robert,” Simon said again, almost teasing, “I know you’re still there, I can hear you breathing.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you.” Robert’s voice was a raspy whisper, “I just—”

“Robert,” Simon nearly laughed at his friend’s desperate floundering, “Do you know what time it is?”

Robert looked down at the carpet and felt immediately ridiculous, “No." He uttered shamefully.

“Yeah...well, it’s almost 2 o’clock.” Simon took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed.

“Sorry, Si.” And Robert truly was, but he couldn’t help himself. “Well, It-it’s really not _that_ late, is it?” Robert tried to laugh, tried to make this seem like an ordinary phone call to his best friend on an ordinary day, but he knew better. They both knew better, and much to Robert’s delight, Simon did laugh quietly at their absurd exchange. He wasn’t hanging up and it was all that Robert could hope for.

“Are you drunk?" Simon asked, slightly amused.

“I-I don’t...know.” Robert blurted, and more tears threatened at the corners of his eyes.

“ _You don’t know._ ” Simon repeated, “Uh-hmm.” He mocked, knowingly.

“I just want-wanted to talk to you.” Robert was becoming frustrated and shifted uncomfortably on the couch, sensing Simon’s delight in hearing him fumble for words.

“You’re drunk.” Simon concluded.

Robert closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore Simon’s accusation, designed only to provoke Robert into a playfulness he couldn’t possibly match now, and his mood plummeted even deeper into despair. He suddenly felt drained and his head dropped down slowly. His gaze met the empty wine bottle between his feet on the floor and for a fleeting moment he wished there was more to drink.

Much more.

“Simon, please.” His voice was a pained whine and his hand came up to his temple and rubbed, “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what? That you’re pissed as shit?”

“Simon, you—" Robert whispered weakly and suddenly stopped as the tears began to spill over. He sniffed and tried to continue but only a wordless, breathy sound emerged from his throat. He couldn’t go on.

“Rob?” Simon asked, but there was no answer, just a long moment of silence, “Robert?” He asked again, his tone immediately changing to one of seriousness and concern at the sound of Robert’s muffled weeping, “Are you—do you want me to come over?”

“I don’t know.” Robert sputtered, “I don’t know anything anymore, Si.”

“Look, don’t—just…no more wine, alright?” Simon knew the culprit for Robert’s current state of mind and he also knew that what Robert needed right now was a voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the first time he had helped him out of his malaise and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Alright.” Robert sniffed, nodded and wiped his eyes and attempted to straighten himself up on the sofa, only he couldn’t bring himself to loosen his white-knuckled grip around the receiver. He felt as if he would slip away into an abyss if he did.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Simon said.

Robert inhaled deeply in an effort to regain his composure, he was desperate to speak coherently and knew he was failing miserably. He had to at least make an attempt to say what he felt at that very moment, “Si, I—you know I—”

“I know,” Simon uttered quietly, “I do, too.”

Robert clearly heard Simon’s tender, reassuring response, but it wasn’t convincing enough. He hated himself for his hopelessness and even more for making such a spectacle of himself—for acting like his world was literally falling apart, “It-it’s—"

“Sit tight, alright?” Simon interjected firmly, “I’ll be there in a few.”

 


End file.
